


Ruby Red

by Grubbutts



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bro Loves Him, Choking, Crucifixion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dave is a Psycho, Dead Crows, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Eating Crow Parts, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Gore, Grooming, Guts - Freeform, Happy Ending, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, In The Woods, Incest, Instead of Dead Dove: Do Not Eat it's Dead Crow: You Gonna Eat, Jealousy, Killing, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Minor Drinking and Driving, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Psycho Striders, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Public Secluded Sex, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Slurs, Somnophilia, Stabbing, Surveillance, They Both Kill Someone, Thriller, Underage Driving, Underage Drug Use, Unrealistic Injury Recovery, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/pseuds/Grubbutts
Summary: "The true reason Bro is often away is his brother. Masterfully pretending to be innocent, deceiving everyone around, Dave hides his penchant for cruelty."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Another random person (paperbrain)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbrain/gifts).



> I saw this prompt and immediately went FERAL. Wrote it all in a feverish haze because I absolutely love this. You have... the best prompts. Thank you for my life. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (Thank you to my beta ily <3)

**BRO**

"Alright, lil man, see you later. Eat your veggies and all that jazz," you call out.

"Don't be long- miss you already!" Dave calls back, poking his head out of his bedroom door to watch you leave.

You close and lock the door behind you before you make your way down the flights and flights of stairs. That shit was cute when he started it, always swooning for his older Bro and asking when they were going to get married. At this point it's just ironic; sometimes in a good way, sometimes it just doesn't quite hit the mark. Kid could use a bit of freshening up on his comedy chops. But it still gives you an inner smile every once and awhile. Yet- it's routine. 

Your truck turns on with a roar that echoes through the parking garage and you double check your mirrors to make sure everything's Gucci. Gonna head out to the club, dj some slick beats, drink a few, touch some willing butts. 

Sigh.

Routine. Boring. Droll. Being the hottest DJ in town used to be a spicy gig, and while it still has its moments, it just doesn't get you up like it used to. It's a decent way to unwind and relax, surprisingly enough, with the sound of the bass beating all around you and pressing against your chest and skin. Cheesy as it is, and yeah sometimes a guy like you gots to get his metaphorical Dorito on, it's like falling in synch with the beat of the cosmos. Or maybe that's just when you drink one too many Cosmo's. Who knows.

Like the looping beats of the tracks you play, the night goes by in a blur that's all too long but it's over before you realize it. You get lost in the tracks, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but in this case it's just a waste of time for you. No enjoyment, no passion, no flavor. As if you were hyperfocusing on watching the paint dry on growing grass. The sympathetic crowds thin a bit earlier than usual and the boss lady let's you go home after setting up a playlist for the stragglers. 

You could stop by the drugstore, pick up a thing or two; garbage bags, batteries, frozen veggies. Gotta get those greens somehow. But it's been a long night. You're tired. Not from being active, just tired from being so inactive. It's been one of those kinds of day. It's whatever.

You drive back home, yawning at every traffic light. Buildings pass, signs fly by, city lights turn off. You pull into the garage, you park, you walk, you climb the stairs, you open the door and lock it behind you. Routine. Boring. Droll. 

"Bro, you're home!" 

He sounds more excited than anyone at the club was. You look up and see Dave drawing some of his comics at the kitchen table just behind the kitchen counter. Little dude makes a damn good cartoonist. Has the stylistic irony down pat with as little as a pencil. "Yo. Got off early. Did you eat?"

"Mhm." He nods and focuses back on his comic while you shove your shoes off and plop your keys on the counter.

You place your hands on your hips and tilt your head, back, back, back- _crack_. You're too young for your back to crack with a bit of stretching, but damn if it ain't satisfying. "Think I might nuke whatever's in the fridge," you say while opening it. Ugh, it's all swords. Real stupid when you're tired, but it's worth it most days. You blame yourself, obviously, you did put them there in the first place. Sigh. Maybe a bag of Doritos will do it.

So you close the fridge and turn-- but what you see takes away any previous motivation to eat anything ever at all. It's like the wind gets knocked out of you and your stomach drops as if you're flying down a rollercoaster. You thought Dave was drawing comics like he usually does at the table. You though the tool in his hand was a pencil. But now that you're closer and can see over the counter, it's very much not… _that_

Instead of a pencil, he has a scalpel. Instead of a notebook, it's a dead crow nailed to a wooden board. Its wings are spread wide, its head turned to the side and pinned by its throat. The legs are spread, and so is its chest. The belly seems to have been cut wide open, exposing the fragile ribs, viscera, and its heart. Dave apparently has gotten to work pulling those out and pinning them to the sides of the board with little labels going accordingly. 

"What the fuck is that?" You knew he liked fucking around with dead things but this is a whole 'nother level.

Dave continues with his work without looking up, "Project. Gotta dissect this crow on the slab of wood. Tell you what- my slab of wood is hard on biology, hard on oncology and urology. Bitches want my biography the process of atrophy of humanity."

You get the point, "I get the point." He could freshen up those rapping skills too. "Do you have to do it on the kitchen table?"

Dave looks up at you with a pout and-- are his eyebrows getting all scrunched up behind his shades? Oh no. Not that look. "You don't like my project?"

You know he's baiting you but you're too tired to go along with it. Instead, you roll your eyes and grab yourself a bottle of water. "Didn't say that. Just don't make a mess or whatever with blood and guts," you say, avoiding any eye contact with his project.

"Don't worry, I know how to clean it up. Trust me." And he goes back to work.

You go to the bathroom and shower, change, and go straight to your room to pass out on your bed. Mmmm tempurpedic mattress pad. Nothing gets better than that. Your nights used to be pretty sleepless with night terrors, but this mattress pad protects you from literally anything that could go bump in the night. You don't tell Dave that, though. Kid's gotta be on his toes in case you catch him sneaking around. Yeah you have surveillance tapes and cameras around, but other than that you'd never know otherwise. The sleep is just too worth it.

\---

**DAVE**

He saw you with your literal pet project a few nights ago (notably, not a school project), and you got to see the look in his eyes when he noticed what exactly you were doing with your crow. He was shocked. And you don't blame him. But man oh man the look on his face. You made him _feel_ something. You could see him struggle to maintain that poker face, could see the twitch in his brows and his mouth. It sends shivers down your spine. You named that little crow Eddy, based off the main goth man himself. He was a good pet but you needed a volunteer and Eddy stepped up to the plate. What a good little dude. Just like you!

Bro says you are all the time. Well, not with his mouth. But he has other ways of saying it. The way he calls you "Lil man," (your pet name!!), tells you to eat your veggies, reads your comics, beats your ass in strifes. _Woof_ does he beat you. It's always fun to test him, get him to go at you with everything he's got. Which, at your current skill level, isn't as much as you'd like but it's enough to get the job done. You've been training a bit on your own, practicing your flash steps and the like. There's a few techniques you've learned but you haven't had the right chance to show off your stuff. Besides, he's not ready yet.

He bruises your ribs, grazes you with his sword, cuts you, trips you. You scrape, bleed, fall, spit. Every little bite and sting is like a love letter from him to you. You wish you could do the same, it's not like you haven't been trying. But going at him head-on is his specialty, and Bro doesn't rhyme with Pro for no reason. 

Still, it's not easy trying to catch his attention. Between training and errands and going to clubs, you don't see him _nearly_ as much as you'd like to. Why does he have to go out all the time? You get that you need money to, you know, live. But his little puppet side business does well enough. He's even got those puppet snuff videos that make a pretty penny (and you can see why, you've jacked yourself off to the “why”-- It's hot). 

Tonight is another night he's come home and flat out crashed in his room. It's hardly 5 minutes before you can hear his faint snoring. You'd make a move now but you know he's a light sleeper. You know everything about him. His computer password is "password1", his file passwords are those file names with a “1” at the end. It's pretty fucking hilarious if you say so yourself. He thinks he can get the drop in you with security videos, but it's a double edged sword Bromeo. If you time it right (which you've been getting better at) you can download the clips of him walking around naked before he can scrub them off his hard drive. 

You think about selling those, help make some extra money so he doesn't have to be out working so much. But then the idea of other people jacking off to Bro crosses your mind and you outright gag. Nah, you could sell yourself probably. There's probably tons of pervert dudes ready and willing to pay to see a 13 year old boy jack off. You wouldn't mind that so much. Though you'd want Bro to be the first one to see you.

God. It's all you want. Bro is everything you want and then some. Even now you get hard and squirmy just thinking about him watching you. His amber gold eyes watching you sans shades. The ways you could make his lips curl with finger inside. What would he do if he heard you moan? Moaning loud for him, begging him to fuck you. Please Bro, you’ve just _gotta_.

Wait a minute.

You turn to look at Bros closed bedroom door. He continues to snore, steady, predictable. It's quiet. Maybe… maybe now's your chance. If you manage to sneak in without getting caught, surely you could… stand? Watch? Just a test, that’s all it is-- a trial run. You figure that you're good enough at flash stepping to avoid his first try at catching you right out of the gate. Oh fuck, fuck what would he do if he caught you? Would you fight? Should you bring a knife?

You get up from the kitchen table and absolutely get your knife, just in case anything really exciting happens, and you stick it in your back pocket. You kind of hope he does catch you in the same way that you hope to be found in a game of hide and seek. Getting cornered and questioned, confronted… _unff_. 

Okay enough of that. One breath, two… you exhale slowly and bend your knees. It's sneaking time.

You tip-toe on the balls of your feet, carefully walking nearby the walls and furniture to avoid the creaking floorboards beneath the carpet. Careful, careful, easy does it. Socks can only muffle so much, but it works. When you reach his bedroom door, you're almost too scared to breathe; what if he hears you? 

The aching hard-on trapped in your pants doesn't give two shits about him catching you, and your shaking hand crosses two inches, three, four, five-- and you clasp onto the doorknob. Careful, careful. You slowly open the door, and it creeks not unlike your own bedroom door, and you pause when the sliver of light from behind you crosses along his face. His eyes are closed and his mouth is wide open.

"Snooocchhhhhrre…." He snores.

You hesitate to release a sigh of relief, but you count this first gauntlet a success. A few more careful steps inside and you gently close the door behind you. Not all the way so it clicks, but enough to keep it dark.

Now the hard part (literally).

Trying to sneak closer to him gets more and more difficult with your dick trying to free itself from the cruel confines of your jeans. Easy there dude. Good things come to those who wait. ...Heh. 

It surprises you how easy it is to get closer to him. Your heart stops after every step. Step. Step (oh god). Step. Soon enough you're standing less than a foot or two away from him. And he hasn't moved. Not one muscle out of place while his snores continue to ring rhythmically and consistently through the room. Shit… you might actually be able to do this.

Okay, okay, you stop, and you stand up straight. You lift your shades to the top of your head to see him truly, and god he's beautiful. So relaxed, so at peace. You hope he's dreaming about you. He better be.

Well, there _is_ one way to make sure of that.

The second gauntlet has been a success, and now the final one. Without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly unbutton your jeans, and zip down the fly. You push them down your thighs before pulling your boxers down your hips. You reach in and fish out your dick from within the confines and ah-- that's so much better.

Dave Jr. isn't nearly as impressive as Bro's, but it feels like it must be a mile long from base to tip as it’s stretching the wide, expansive valley of space between you and Bro. You languish yourself, taking your time to warm up with slow, almost harrowing strokes. It's too wide, too long, it needs to be shorter. Shorter, shorter. You move faster and the trench your beef truncheon resides in gets shorter and shorter with each stroke. Faster. Faster. _Faster_.

Yes, shit, yes. You're jacking off in front of Bro!! Oh god yeah, oh yeah, that's the ticket. You stroke yourself just right, pulling at your foreskin and thumbing your slit. What you wouldn't do to have him awake right now. To see him watch you and your dick. You want to watch him too, lord almighty do you want to see him. You want to see every inch of his skin and make it yours. You want to come on his face, his tits, his belly, his ass, fill him to the brim. He's. Fucking. _Yours_.

You breathe a little heavier, stroke a little faster. You're often a fast shot but tonight's a special treat for everyone and you happen to be just a bit faster. "Oh, Bro, god Bro yes," you mutter and mumble low under your breath. You want to scream his name. You want him to scream _your_ name. 

Your toes curl, your knees tense, your back straightens. Oh god you're gonna come, you're gonna-

You manage to tip toe close enough to his open mouth, and come dribbles down between his lips, and spurts onto his tongue. You're careful not to let any spill and go to waste. It all slides across down, slow and elegant, down to the back of his throat.

He coughs and you freeze-- is he waking up? Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. You almost come again.

But instead he smacks his lips together and swallows your load down into his belly, and shifts to make himself comfortable.

You don't even button yourself back up, with the smoothest flash step you've ever done in your life, you leave his room (closing the door) and rush into your own. You beat yourself off again, you can't help yourself. He’s surely dreaming of you now.


	2. Chapter 2

**BRO**

You wake up with a strange salty taste in your mouth, something almost bitter? It tastes familiar but you can't really pinpoint it. Maybe some kickback from the caesar salad you had yesterday. Acid reflux is a bitch so it’s a good thing you were asleep for it.

The morning routine goes by as usual; you get up, brush your teeth, take a piss, and stumble to the kitchen for the coldest pizza you have. Weirdly enough you feel a pair of red eyeballs staring a hole through you the entire time. The hell is his deal?

"Yo," you nod over at the futon where Dave stares at you. "What's up your ass today?"

He shrugs, "Nothin."

"Nothin my ass. What's up?"

"You don't have work today."

"And?"

"So what are we gonna do?"

"We? Nah. We train and that's it. Gotta run errands."

"Aw man, Bro, c'mon. You never stick around long enough to spend time with me and our good friend Mr. XBOX over here."

"You're a big boy, you don't need me holding your hand."

"But I want to. Gimme."

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Nope."

He huffs and shifts. "If I win then you’ll stay, okay?"

He says it like the deal has already been made. But sure, what the hey. He could use a good ass beating. "Fine. Be ready in 5."

And just like that he's gone. Good, he's gotten better at his flash step. You could still see him but there's an improvement. While he rushes, you lazily get dressed and pick the right shitty katana for this battle for your free time. He wants a good fight then he’ll get one, but not without sweating it out a little under the sun and under the pressure of your arrival.

Gloves, shades, hat, and a sword in hand; you make your way up the stairs. You’re barely taking a step out on the roof when Dave makes his first attack. One single easy block with an audible "Shing!" of metal on metal stops him. So, he wants to do this without giving you the chance to warm up, huh? Alright, two can play at that game.

You let him swing at you, blocking each attack he heaves your way. "That all you got?" You laugh and feint to the right before swinging to the left. Dave isn’t prepared for the volley of riposte after riposte, and he stumbles back with each one as he blocks it. He grunts and grits his teeth, and satisfaction pools in your chest. You swing one more time before kicking him in the chest. 

He stumbles back a few steps and coughs. "Fuck you knocked the wind outta me," he wheezes. 

It's too bad this fights over before it's even begun, but swiftly you make the "killing blow" by flash stepping behind him and--

He turns and swings his sword full force and it cuts your shirt; a small red line appears on your chest and beads with red. Your heart races. That little fucker. You look at him and he's grinning wide with glee.

"Alright you little shit. I’m game." 

“Bring it on old man.”

You swing in a wider arc at him with more force behind your strike. He blocks. Swing. Block. Swing. Block. One step at a time, forcing him backwards. You forgo speed for relentless strength, not allowing him the chance to recover in time to dodge. Swing. Block. Swing. Block. Swing-- 

Your katana swings free in the air and you stumble for just a single step, but it’s enough.

He's gone. What?

"The view from here is fantastic dude."

You look down, and there's Dave lying on his back between your legs. "What the fuck- OW!" Shock bursts from the back of your right calf, stinging through all your nerves to your head, your spine, and down to your toes and fingers. You collapse on top of him with one knee and- shit is he doing laundry today with those roll of quarters in his pants?

You manage to flash step a few feet away to check the damage. "You stabbed me."

"Hell to the yup."

There's a fucking knife sticking out of your fucking calf and Dave's staring at you like he just won the lottery. "You stabbed me!"

"Say that again Bro, but slower."

"What the fuck dude?"

"That's not 'you stabbed me'."

The achingly hot _sting_ of it all flares in your leg but you know you can't risk pulling the thing out without risking blood loss or muscle damage. You need your calves, you walk with those. "You could at least be fucking remorseful about it. Jesus…"

"Does this mean I win?"

"No it doesn't mean you win, it means I have to go to the doc now." Your teeth grit together and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Fucking hell.” You haven’t been hurt this bad since you tried to show off and damn near lost your hand to your own blade. 

"I can go with you. I could even drive, I’ll be your personal chauffeur."

"It ain't legal for you to drive."

"It's not legal to train an underage kid to use a sword on a regular basis either. Or smoke weed. Or let me watch porn. Or--"

Your calf pulses and bursts with waves of pain that echo through your body, and your foot is beginning to tingle in a suspicious way. It’s hot and wet with tacky blood that coagulates along your leg hair. Ugh. It fucking hurts, dammit, there's a KNIFE in your CALF. "Whatever-- let's just go before I die or whatever the fuck."

Dave nods and rushes to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling yours around his shoulders to help you walk down the stairs. Each step is hell. Each inch, each foot, each flight of stairs is absolute hell in a handbasket. Heat doesn’t even begin to describe the pain. Your leg is a volcano of molten lava and the knife is at its core, surrounded by dark thunderous clouds striking you with shock upon shock of lightning through every nerve in your body. 

You make sure Dave knows exactly what that’s like by growling in his ear about it along the way.

For fucks’ sake, Dave motherfucking stabbed you in the leg. If he felt bad you'd be impressed, if he felt sorry or genuinely apologized because he overestimated you. It’s a type of cockyness you can respect. But instead… He holds you close and almost nuzzles into your shoulder as he helps you down. He's pleased with himself like a cat that got the cream (even looked like he coulda creamed in his pants when he did it), as if he wanted to hurt you just so he could take care of you.

“OW, fuck!” You land on the last step a little too hard. 

“Easy there, dude.”

No. No, that would never happen. It was an accident. He's a kid. Boys will be boys. After all, it's not like you were the best kid either.

You finally make it to your truck and Dave helps you into the passenger seat. He then trots around and clambers into the driver's seat which is much too big for him. He pulls the seat forward and pumps it up so he can see over the dashboard. Next he adjusts your fucking rearview mirror (god this is going to be a pain to fix the next time you drive), then he turns the engine on.

He fixes the side mirrors and checks everything two, three times. Sure is careful-- that’s good, you didn’t raise an idiot after all. Getting you to the clinic safely is the least he could do. Dave turns to you with a soft smile and reaches out to pat your hand, "Don't worry Bro. I've got you."

"Mhm, thanks." You drone and lean against the window. 

Dave starts driving and somehow he's actually good at it. Makes sure to look both ways, follows the traffic pattern, follows the law. He drives straight and doesn’t slam the gas or the break too hard. Meanwhile you're making a mess with your bloody leg. Gross. And you're going to have to clean that up later. Ugh. It's not your first rodeo cleaning up blood after all, some ammonia here, hard scrub and cornstarch or salt there, water; the works. Injuries have happened often enough that you even have a favorite clinic that Dave pulls up to.

"Okay, we're here. Come on." He says and hops out. You open the door and try to move but the pain shoots up your leg and holy shit you need-

"Hey, wait for me. You can't walk on your own dumbass." Dave swoops in beside you and helps you walk again like before. The truck is closed and locked and the two of you hobble into the office and yup-- you're already getting a fair amount of stares. Even the ladies at the desk gasp at you. 

Wait shit, you haven't even thought of a cover story yet. Maybe a construction accident, or a knife fell while you were workshopping. No those are stupid. You can’t think with your leg on fucking fire.

"Hey Janice," Dave says before you can even open your mouth. "My stupid older Bro went to one of those places where you can throw axes and knives and shit, you know the one off 4th St.? And somehow the big dumb idiot got one lodged in his leg. Just a good solid _stab_ slicing clean into him as if it was lubed for a buttery asshole. Bro, you're a mess, isn't that right?"

You see his ruby red eyes shine almost unnaturally from behind his shades, and it makes you swallow thickly. "Uh, yeah. Yeah woops, I'm a clumsy asshole. Please take my money and fix my leg so I can stop bleeding everywhere." You grumble. Damn, Dave had that ready on the spot.

Janice, the receptionist, shakes her head and tuts at you. "I'll never understand you boys, but I’m glad you came for help. What would he do without you Dave."

He laughs, the fucker _laughs_. "Tell me about it. He's lucky I was there to help him out. He wouldn't know how to find his own damn ass without me." 

You blanch and quickly change the subject. "Is the doc in? Please? Like ASAP?"

Janice nods and passes over the clipboard of forms for you to fill out which Dave takes in your stead. "Come over here, he'll be with you soon."

She directs you through a door to the back offices and leads you to an examination room where she closes the door behind you, leaving just you and Dave alone. 

You sit down on the table and he wastes no time grabbing paper towels and kneeling before you. He starts to gently wipe the blood on your leg and tries to clean you up. Each wipe and stroke is careful, soft. As if he was polishing his sword (the katana, not the meat one). Like he cares. Goddamn. Despite that, it still hurts though. Each touch makes you wince and your calf pulse with a deep ache.

"Wanna explain to me what's fucking going on?" You huff.

Dave doesn't look up while he cleans. "I hurt you. Gotta make it right somehow." He shrugs.

"Don't even wanna say sorry or nothin'?"

"It's not like you say sorry a whole bunch."

"Fair enough. Except I haven't stabbed you in the fucking leg."

Dave presses _hard_ against the muscle just below the knife and you hiss and groan. Your vision goes black for a moment before stars crinkle and light the way back to the edges of your sight. "Not all pain is physical."

You don't get a chance to respond because the door opens and the doctor steps in. 

As weird as the whole situation is, being in the clinic is routine. Your wound is checked, you're given a local anesthetic, he takes the knife out, stops the bleeding, cleans you up, and sews everything back together. He prescribes you a few doses of pain meds and a day full of bedrest. 

Dave seems all too happy about this, you can practically smell the piss off him as he bounces in the driver's seat in the truck. Guess he _did_ win.

\---

**DAVE**

Holy fucking shit you're driving a truck. You're driving Bro's truck like a whole ass adult. You, Dave, a 13 year-old, driving a damn truck that Bro just _lets_ you do. And he's all patched up and sulking like a big baby but yeah, oh yeah you're living the life. You have to admit, it's always hard to sit back and let doctors do their job sewing Bro up. He’s feeling better though so you let it slide this time. Someday you're gonna learn how to do that so you'll never have to rely on anyone touching him again.

But anyway that's besides the point. You drive home and along the way you spot a drive-thru to pass by. You get the basic stuff-- shakes, burgers, fries. Along with some ice cream for the big baby.

"Stop calling me a big baby. I'd like to see you get stabbed without crying, asshole." He grumbles and takes a spoonful of his ice cream. Yeah, he likes it. Because you know Bro. You know him better than anyone else ever. Period. 

"Wanna give it a shot? We got to keep the knife, it’s right there. Let me have it, Bro." You tease. That would be pretty fun actually. You two always strife with long swords, but what would a fight be like with knives and daggers? Get all up in your personal space. Shove that knife deep into his skin again; feel the way it cuts through skin and tears apart each chord and fiber of muscle in its path.

That moment in and of itself was the hottest thing you've ever experienced. And you literally came in his fucking mouth last night. 

Call you Jack Dawson cause you feel like the king of the world right now. 

You manage to get back home without crashing, much to both your and Bro’s surprise, and you help him up the stairs just like you had helped him down before. It's hell to get up there. You don't know why the elevator almost never works in your building, but leave to you jerk-offs to live on the top floor.

"For fucks sake, this is a nightmare," he grumbles in your ear.

"Aww it's okay. I'll be your little housewaifu today. Imma cook and clean and feed you and massage you and take care of your battle wound." You remind him. "You don't have to sound so disappointed to spend the day with me."

"That's not what I'm saying- you stabbed me. You, put a knife, in my body."

"You say that like you haven't done that to me before." You definitely have the scars to prove it.

"It's not the same thing. I was careful. This was straight up cold-blooded, you reptilian fuck."

You bark out a laugh. "You're so fucking funny when you're cranky Bro. You gonna do stand up at the club anytime soon?"

He grumbles and gruffs beside you as you both take the final steps up the stairs, and hobble your way into the apartment. Finally. Home sweet home. Bro tries to pull away from you but you hold onto him right. "Nope. You're gonna sit your ass down on the futon and let me take care of you."

"No."

"Yes. Sit down, take your meds, and drink water you enormous man-child."

"You stabbed me."

You're getting a little peeved that he says that over and over. Asshole. Stupid sexy asshole. Can't he see how much you're doing for him? How much you're taking care of him? "Are you going to keep bringing that up? Do you want me to bring up all of your mistakes and flaws? I know you Bro, you ain't hiding shit from me. So either sit down or this house will be filled with two big babies, and there ain’t enough Daddy in the two of us right now to handle that. Capiche!?" 

That seems to quiet him down and he sighs. "Fine, whatever. Take me to the couch."

"Good. Glad you're seeing things my way." You huff and lead him along, crossing the main space into the connected living room where you ease him down onto the couch. There, you get a pillow and gently place his foot on top. People do that in movies so that must be the standard protocol for leg injuries. 

You're still sporting a half-chub since the stabbing, but it's hardly noticeable you're sure. Or at least Bro will have the decency to either suck your dick or ignore it for now. You know how he likes to play games, play hard to get. Cat and mouse is always fun. 

You clap your hands together. "Okay, take your meds with your water. I'm going to make us snacks, and we're going to glitch the hell out of Tony Hawk and his friends." You state matter-of-factly before going into the kitchen to do just that. 

You grab more water, soda, chips, candy, and you come back and place it all down on Bro's chest. Then you plop down on the floor and lean your back against the side of the couch as you pick up the remotes and controllers. "You comfy?"

"Mhmm."

"You sure?" You turn around and try to fluff up the couch cushions and drag a blanket over him. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, I can do it for you." You reassure him while tucking said blanket beneath the cushions. 

"I'm good, but thanks."

You smile and nod. "Sorry, I'm just really glad to spend the day with you Bro. You’re here, I’m here, we could get into some fun stuff together. And you give him _that look_ , the one where your brows get all furrowed, eyes wide, lips pressing together and wrinkling your chin.

He looks at you for a moment before his shoulders sag and he reaches out to ruffle your hair (oh FUCK yes!). "Yeah aight lil man. Sorry I was being an asshole. You did the right thing, taking me to the doc. I appreciate it."

Holy shit your chest is going to burst you're so happy. You leap half onto him to give him the tightest hug you can muster.

"Woah there, easy."

You relax and sigh, "I know I know just- thanks Bro.”

"Mhmm. Now show me what you got."

You pull back and give him a decisive nod before turning back to the TV. 

The next few hours practically fly by and it almost feels just like normal, just like the two of you had been years ago before he found your first dead crow. It was an accident, both the killing and finding out, but somehow things hadn't been quite the same since. Today was a nice refresher of how well Bro and you fit together. 

You glitch Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3 better than anyone else can, but Bro’s the only one who still has you beat; you both end up laughing to the point of choking from the sheer absurdity of some of these stunts. All the while, you have a nagging feeling in your chest. Did you forget something? Is it because you want to kiss him? Is it because you want to make sure he's bedridden forever and ever just so he can stay with you?

Maybe. But all of that can come later. The mouse has to nibble on some cheese first before you can make you can shake your kitty ass and make your big pounce. For now, you enjoy yourself in the normal. Just two Bros, chilling on the couch, a few feet away cause they're “not gay.” Or whatever. You scooch closer anyway because you're gay as fuck, and you're rewarded with more head pats and hair ruffles. Aww yiss. 

The sun has to set at some point. And that point was 6 hours of games and movies ago. You're tired. You've had one of the best days of your life with Bro and it's all because you stabbed him. Pretty neat trick, huh?

The both of you stand, and Bros already getting better on his feet as he hobbles to his computer.

"Gonna go to sleep, okay?"

"Aight. Night kiddo."

You hesitate, just for a moment, to really look at him. He’s yours, he’s completely yours and he doesn’t know it yet. "G’night Bro. Thanks for today."

He turns to you and nods. Satisfied, you scurry off to bed. 

\---

**BRO**

Dave's been with you all day. But finally when he goes to bed, you have a chance to check your surveillance cameras. Thank fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**BRO**

What. The. Fuck? What the fuck what the fuck what in the absolute shitting fuck.

Like hell you're going to go back to your bed and sleep after _that_. Up until this point, you've more or less respected the kid’s privacy. You mostly check the common areas, your room, and entrances and exists. And that fucker… no wonder your morning breath was more gross than usual holy shit. 

He...he… Dave came in your room, then he _came_ in your room, and splooged his goo right in your mouth. The concept, alone, is hot. But like this?? You never fucking talked about this. You never taught him that. He just did that. He just did it. And he went about it all like it was perfectly normal, then stabbed you, and had a grand ole fuckin’ time doing it. It was a nightmare. 

You don't know what the hell to do with him, how do you even approach this with a kid? _Hey, maybe don't come in my mouth when I'm asleep?_ How in the hell do you try to explain that? To sit him down and tell him that's not okay? And that flash step of his... He's gotten a lot better, sure, but you can still see him so he’s not _that_ good yet right?

But that one time. That _one_ time. He disappeared from sight, hearing, sound. You didn't even feel the breeze between your legs when he just showed up there ready and raring to penetrate your leg. 

You're a careful man, and dammit to hell you really do love your brother. How can you not? You raised him since infancy. You've known him for 13 years, his entire life. You're his cool big brother. He’s the one person who ever gave you a chance to change, to better yourself. And you absolutely don't want to believe that any of this could be true. Maybe he's just too proud to admit he fucked up real bad with the knife. Maybe he was playing a prank on you and just pretended to jack off and come in your mouth for the cameras.

Oh yeah, that's right. He's not dumb, that's for sure. He knows where the cameras are, he knows you check surveillance every once and a while and scrub it regularly. Yeah… yeah of course it was a joke. It was all a joke, right? It had to be. Maybe the stabbing messed you up more than you thought. You definitely need to have a talk with him, reiterate some strifing rules-- no stabbing.

That would be a pretty weird joke all things considered, but it’s not reaching. In fact, you’d probably have done it yourself given the chance, like if you went to college and became the violent hedonist you were destined to be. Sometimes you’ve gotta acknowledge that the weird guy persona is just 100% grade-A organic beef you. In this case Dave’s the vegetarian that found out you’ve been hiding meat in his food and... got mad? Lost his marbles? Lost his brussels sprouts? Whatever. You’re tired and it’s your fault you messed the kid up. 

You've since gone into your room and closed the door, double, triple checking that it's locked along with the window. You lean your back against the door, allowing your knees to give as you sit against it.

Are you going crazy? Is this your fault? You raised him after all, everything he knows comes from you. He looks up to you. You let him fuck around with his interest in dead things. Figured he might be an archeologist or paleontologist or whatever the fuckiologist. Even his Biology project feels weird but… it's not like you finished enough school to really know what the curriculum is like these days.

Either one of two things is true- Dave really did come in your mouth and stab you, or he did a dumb prank (a really dumb prank) and hurt you more than he expected. Maybe he was hoping for some praise for a final blow like that.

It gnaws in your gut, so you let it percolate for hours into the night. You hardly sleep at all, refusing to move from beside the door. 

Sleep comes and goes, and you drift in and out of consciousness. You dream of hanging out with your brother and playing video games. You dream of play fights and rap battles. You dream of come dripping from your lips, of the most beautiful ruby reds looking at you. You dream of dying. Of falling. Of flying. It's everywhere and nowhere. The ground is beneath you one second, and in the next it has become the ceiling. 

Needless to say, you wake up sore, groggy, and downright grouchy. But you're determined to get some answers out of him. And you're determined not to be completely the worst guardian in existence. He and you both know you've been far from perfect, but you're doing your best.

So you get up, stretch, take your pain meds and go through your morning routine. It's far earlier than you usually wake up, but you're a man on a mission and that mission is to figure out what the hell is going on with your little brother. Even if you have to crack a few eggs.

Which you do, and whisk them away in the bowl before pouring them into the pan. Maybe you'll entice him into the conversation, get him to lower his guard down with breakfast. Confrontational 1v1 is your biggest strength. You're an imposing man, intimidating to most folks. Including Dave. You can do it.

"Yo Dave, made breakfast. Get up." You say and knock on his door. One, two, thr- before your knuckles can hit the door on three, it's open and Dave stands there looking sleepy with some bruising under his eyes that match yours. Good. You don't know why that's good but somehow seeing him sleepy makes you relax.

"S'too early," he slurs. 

"Not too early to eat breakfast with me. C'mon." You nod over to the table with two plates of scrambled eggs, a glass of OJ, and a glass of AJ. Yeah, you went all out on this. He follows you to the table like a little duckling and you both sit and start to eat. 

Yeah, alright, maybe you were jumping to conclusions. He's just a kid. He does dumb shit. It's fine. "I wanna talk about a few things," you open with.

"Mhmm." Dave glances up at you and continues to eat.

"Strife rules. No stabbing, alright? Injuries are fine, gotta learn somehow, but a whole ass knife inside a body is gonna be off the table. Okay?"

"Mhmm," he hums and eats.

"Need you to say the rule to me."

Dave drops his spoon and let's it clatter on the plate. "God, whatever. No stabbing, okay? I said I'm sorry, I thought this was over with."

It's the morning, you don't blame him for being grouchy. "Good."

"Yay, can we just eat now?"

You eat a bit more egg and nod, "Just one more thing."

"What is it, ball buster-brown?"

"That prank the other night."

"The prank?" He's quieter, but he keeps eating.

"Funny shit, I'll give you that. Don't know whatever substance you used to put in my mouth, my guess is cornstarch and water. Used to make that when I was a kid. But anyway, don't do it again. You know the rules, don't go in my room. Okay?"

He nods. "No going in your room."

"Good." The two of you continue eating in silence, but at least you got to say pretty much everything you needed too. Besides, everything he just said is on tape so you have proof in the pudding that he acknowledged your rules and boundaries. 

When you finish, you put the dishes away and grab your keys. "Gonna be gone for a bit, gotta run those errands I didn't get to yesterday. Be good, eat veggies, et cetera et cetera." 

"Miss you already!"

"Cute." You shake your head and leave, ignoring the ache and heat in your leg with each step. Yeah alright, he's a good kid. Just gotta give him eggs and patience, that's all.

\---

**DAVE**

Oh god he saw it. He SAW it! He saw IT!! He watched you come in his mouth. He watched it he watched it he watched it. And he let it slide thinking it was a PRANK. 

Thank god you're sleepy enough to pretend like you didn't just totally pop the most massive boner on the spot. It's too bad he had to leave right after, but man oh man. You can't _not_ jack off just thinking about it. You poked the bear and fucking lived. How much farther can you go? How far can you take it to make Bro yours yours YOURS?

You plop yourself on the futon and shimmy down your PJs and boxers. Your cock springs out already hard and throbbing, aching for attention. You know where the cameras are, you know Bro’s watching closer now-- so it's time to give him a damn show. 

You hike up your knees and place your heels on the edge, allowing your legs to spread and present yourself wide and open. Nose flared, chest heaving with heavy breaths, sweat and chills crawl deliciously down your back. You take one of the lube packets tucked beneath the couch cushions and tear it open with your teeth before pouring it onto your fingers. It’s warm, the kind that “activates” for his pleasure. Not wasting any time, you start teasing yourself with one hand while slowing stroking with the other. Finger tracing all the little indents and wrinkles around your hole. "Mmmm Bro…" 

You need his dick inside you. You absolutely need it. You've seen that monster a good few times, and you've been practicing taking something so girthy. 

A finger slides in and your head falls back, hand stroking a bit faster and steady around your love stick.

"Fuck me, fuck me, c'mon please fuck me," you beg to open air, to the cameras. Will he think this is a prank? You hope not. You want him to face you. You want him to see just how much he means to you.

Your finger pistons in and out and in and out, slick with lube. It doesn't take much longer to be able to thrust in with two fingers, and with each passing minute you go harder and harder, faster and faster. 

Bro needs to bruise you. Outside, inside. God he needs to bruise you. Needs to fuck you within an inch of his and your life. You'll make it so, by god, you will.

You thrust in a third finger. You're not ready for it yet, and it hurts and stings and prickles down to your toes, but you're only getting that much more turned on. Your plump balls bounce with each stroke.

You'll tie him up. You'll hurt him. You'll drug him. Oh fuck you can do that, you can _so_ do that. You think you know some of his friends and you have the connections for some roofies and shit. It might take a while, but you can get it. Maybe a bit of E to spice things up. Make him beg you to touch him. He really needs it, you know he does. He's got a stick up his ass all the way from Houston to Shanghai. You know what he needs, and he needs to relax. Let go. He's always making decisions and being in charge, but he doesn't have to. You can do that for him. You can take him, take care of him, show him how much you love him. God he's so loved, he should be grateful to you. "Thank you Dave," he'll say.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, you're gonna come. You thrust all three fingers deep inside and jack your arm numb to finish yourself. Yes, YES-- "Yes!!!!" You cry out and your back arches, your legs tremble, and your cock shoots and come splatters across Bros open Gamebro magazine on the coffee table. 

Deep breaths. Panting. A glass of water. Some paper towels. A shimmy of your pants later, you're dressed and ready to go. You close the Gamebro magazine without cleaning it up. And you head out.

You have an errand to run.

\---

**BRO**

You fix your truck seat which took a while (damn little dude sure is small) before you head out and get the things you needed to get. New headphones, check. New HDMI cables, check. Cleaning supplies, check. Garbage bags, food, check. What the hey, you decide to splurge and get a premade salad. Need more iron for all that blood loss. You pick up an extra first aid kit and bandages and ointment for your new sexy scar. That's one hell of a pick-up like you can use now, "Guess what, I've been _stabbed_. Want me to show you were the knife touched?” With a good wink and a wonk. 

You feel your talk with Dave this morning went pretty well so you expect things will go back to normal. Routine. Boring. Droll. And you know what? That's okay. You don't need anything too exciting anyway. That old Chinese curse, "may you live in interesting times," hits home when you think about it. So you're totally fine with this, everything's cool. Life will align itself.

The club tonight is rowdy and active. Bodies grind, sweat fills the air, drinks slosh, lights flash. It's a hell of a party and tonight you're getting into it. The beat flows through your veins and you bop your head with the new headphones, blasting your latest remix through the speakers and bringing everyone to life. Here, you are a god. A god of party and dance. Everyone here is your acolyte, blessing you with sick moves and flirty touches. You even forget that your leg still hurts.

When the club comes to a lul and the crowd thins, you've stopped the music in favor of making out with a gorgeous twink in one of the back closets. Your hands are down his little booty shorts to get a nice grab on that ass. He stinks of cologne and he's rubbing lip gloss all over your face and lips, but at least he chose a good flavor. Tastes like sour apple. You like the little kick and a tart bite in your makeout session.

He moans into your mouth and whimpers when you bite down on him. It’s a bit disappointing that he's not the most fighty sub. Not that you want a full on brat, but a little bit of back and forth is always good in your book. Still, he's hot and here and his ass has a good squishable density to it so all in all it's a good makeout session. You grind your crotches together and move to free his dick- but he stops you.

"Sorry, I'm no come and dump. Going have to take me out for a date first."

You nods and step back. "That's fair."

He grins and takes out a piece of napkin that he scribbles on, then gives it a big wet kiss before handing it off to you. "Call me~" he sings as he leaves you in the closet by yourself. 

It's not a let down by any means, but you'd like to get off sooner rather than later. Probably will when you take a shower, you're pretty sure you reek. So you tuck the number in you back pocket, undecided whether or not you want that date, and pack up your things from the club and go home to do just that.

Your buzz has gone down to seemingly functional levels by the time you drive home. Items all in the front seat and it smells of BO and cologne and perfume. You needed today, it was good. Just a nice day out and work didn't feel like work. Hell yeah. 

You drive into your apartment building garage and park, but before you can go up, there's a big ass blood stain on the floor at the passenger seat that you have to clean. If you don’t right now, you’ll probably forget. It takes a lot of scrubbing and ammonia to get it out. The cornstarch helps a bit but you know that works better for fresher blood, and this stain has had over a day to dry. 

Once that's done, you finally make your way up the stairs and into the apartment. You don't see Dave anywhere, but it's late enough that you assume he's sleeping. That's good at least. You go to the bathroom and undress and leave your clothes on the floor while you take a shower, going through your whole night routine before heading to bed. You notice, however, that Dave's biology project has been hung on the wall.

Well, project _s_. 

There are three wooden boards with dissected crows just hanging on the wall in place of your katanas. Each with its organs out and pinned in different ways and labeled. Uggghhh, you told him not to do that at the kitchen table and now he's hanging it up on the wall as retaliation you bet. Dumbass. Stupid teenagers. Not like you don’t retaliate in your own ways but still. Plus it’s kinda weird that he had to do three of them for school, what the fucks up with that? 

Whatever. You're tired. You take them down and set them on the table along with a note that says, "School work is cool. Keep it in your room." Before you head off to bed.

The next day you don't see Dave when you get up. So you text him and let him know you'll be out. Might hit up that twink but who knows. You go to music stores and record stores because sometimes you need that authentic scratch to hype the club up before getting there. 

You work. You come home. Your leg is getting better slowly but surely. There’s still a decent throbbing pain that’s consistent and sore, but not unmanageable. 

And you find that the crows are back on the wall again with a note for you. "You leave your creepy snuff puppets out, can't I hang my projects up?"

There he goes again with the whole "you're the worst guardian so I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want." Yeah well not this time, kiddo. You take them down again and this time place them by his bedroom door with another note. "Nope."

The following day goes by much the same. Work, dancing, come home. The crows are back up. So meticulously labeled, each and every piece. They smell a bit like formaldehyde too. His note says, "Come on, Bro, please? It's not like you're around enough to look at them all the time anyway."

Fine. Whatever. He's right. If you're home then you don't want to see them, but he can go hog wild when you're out. You leave a note beside his that says just that. 

Days pass. And so does a week. Routine. Boring. Droll. You check through surveillance and he hasn't gone back in your room. Though he has been masturbating on the futon a whole lot. Shit. No wonder why your mag was so sticky. You fast forward through them, kids probably exploring his sexuality and he's allowed to. All safe and alone. You taught him that, even showed him what toys to use so he doesn’t hurt himself. You delete a lot that you find, but somehow Dave manages to get the best shots? Is he trying to show off? Trying to get you to watch him? Whatever. Despite that pretty tight ass (it's a joke, you tell yourself) you leave well enough alone.

Your leg is healing up nicely but you know your calf won't be the same again so you practice your flash step on the roof. Trying to get it just right but your speed and balance keep being fickle fuckers and you trip more than a few times. It'll get better though you figure. Practice one thing enough and you'll get good at it.

Today's your day off and you finally see Dave again, this time making you lunch when you come down the stairs after training. "That a new crow?" You ask, nodding to the fourth one on the wall.

"Mhmm. Want an omelette sandwich?" He asks from the stove. "Trust me dude, this shit is so fucking good." 

"Sure. Just take down the crows first." You say, passing by to get some OJ from the fridge and chug straight from the gallon.

Dave takes it out of your hand after a good gulp or two, "I'll get you a glass, idiot." He teases and you roll your eyes and go to the table while he does. He goes about bringing you a plate with the sandwich, a glass of OJ, and takes the crows down where he sets them off to the side. 

Oh, one of the labels is on the ground. You pick it up and hold it out for him. "Dropped this."

"Oh thanks!" He says and quickly tucks it away in his pocket.He then sits next to you and eagerly watches you as you pick up the sandwich. "Lemme know how it is."

You snort. "Aight aight. Good job cooking a thing," you say. Whether or not it tastes good is pretty moot, you're just glad that he at least knows how to cook something. See, at least you’re not all that bad of a guardian. Your stomach makes the decision to take a big bite out of it, chasing it down with a glass of OJ. All in all not too bad. Maybe a little salty, a little gamey and bitter, but it's pretty good. "Damn alright, nice one little man. Even got buffalo ranch." You tell him and hold your fist out for a bump.

He grins and bumps back, "Awesome! I tried some different meats in it. Did you know there's so many different types of ham? What's up with that?"

You eat and drink and shrug, "Dunno. You really only need one."

"Right? Anyway I'm so glad you like it. I've been practicing." 

"Yeah?" Oof you're getting full quick. It's pretty decent though so you keep eating. Don't wanna disappoint the little guy.

"Mhm. It took some doing but I think I finally got stuff ready."

You could really go for a nap after this. "Ready for what?"

"Trying out some new things."

God it must have been hot out. Did you drink enough water? You down the rest of your OJ. "What sorta things."

"This."

You're light-headed, and you realize that Dave hasn't eaten or drank anything. "What… the fuck?" Your words are beginning to slur.

"Easy there, Bro. It's okay, you'll be okay."

"What…" The world spins.

"It's okay Bro, I've got you."

“Dave…" Your head goes cold and you shudder.

"Shhhh, it's okay Bro."

The floor is the ceiling, and you black out.


	4. Chapter 4

**DAVE**

THAT BITCH.

What the fuck kind of skank has been fooling around with Bro? _Your_ Bro. Despicable. The asshole even shoved it in your face, leaving his clothes like that. He fucking knows you go to the bathroom first in the mornings and he _left_ that nasty ass note for you. He might as well be toting around his new side piece in front of you like "Sup little bro. Say hi to your new 'rent." Ugh. You almost tear his clothes to pieces right there and then. Almost waltz right into his room and stab him again. GOD. WHAT THE FUCK.

Careful, careful, easy there. Deep breaths like you've practiced. Countdown from ten. Easy. Slow and easy, it's alright. 

Your errand last night didn't go exactly how you planned, but you managed to get a few other useful things. Thank god for music stores. You'll try again soon to get the rohypnol, but in the meantime you plan and wait.

Bro can't get his heart broken, he just can't. You remember the last time he went on a date and he got stood up, came home sulking and wouldn't even talk to you. It was a good thing you warned off that bitch. She broke his heart so bad. You shake your head and tut. He just doesn't do relationships, he's got himself and he's got you. There's no room for anyone else. It's just Bro and you against the world. Us versus them. 

He just doesn't understand it yet, that's all, doesn't quite get it. It's hard to blame a stubborn guy like him, so you choose to forgive him for this. It's fine, he just doesn't know any better. 

But something definitely has to give. And by god you're going to give it to him. 

First things first, you hang up your projects on the wall. Eddy, Matilda, and Orb-- the last name always gives you a giggle-- and you take the hammer and nails and hang them up where Bros swords were. They look beautiful like that. All spread out. You almost want to string Bro up like that, but then you wouldn't be able to get take care of him anymore. Still, the idea of it being a person appeals to you. It’s a much bigger scale than the crows.

The next day, Bro predictably took them down and left a little note. He still thinks it's for school, the dummy. It's summer vacation, who gives kids a dissection project to do on their own over the summer? Just one of the many reasons he _needs_ you to care for him. He just doesn't get this stuff. 

You place them back up with a passive aggressive note you think a certain friend of yours could appreciate. Then you head out to get the drugs. It's a bit hard to get the money for it but Bro's not very careful with his wallet. You go to the ATM and withdraw from his account (his pin is 1203 how cute is that?) Then you go to one of the weed pop-up shops with Bro's ID and a hat. You're short but believably just "short for your age." There's one dealer with a lop-sided smile that you know has extra secret goodies on the side. He sells you the roofies and some ecstasy. Wasn't cheap at all but it should get the job done.

You come home and sneak the cards back into his wallet by his keys, and find that he's taken down your crows again. Ugh, asshole. He's not even around anyway, and honestly? It kind of hurts that he doesn't want to see them. It's a project that you're proud of and you worked hard on. Unappreciative fucker.

Easy there, deep breaths. You go back into your room and lure another crow to kill and dissect to take your mind off it. It's fine, it's all good and fine and that's that. There's something therapeutic about the whole process. Killing, cutting, carefully using your scalpel and tweezers to pick out all the little bits. It eases you, mellows you out. You want to be able to show Bro this, help him learn how to do it too. You know he'd like it. He's a meticulous guy, it would be perfect for him.

But patience is key. Patience leads to understanding after all, and he needs to understand what's at stake here. 

The day finally comes and you have everything ready by the futon. You hang up your latest project too before you get to work on his lunch while he's up training. Apparently crow tastes pretty good if you cook it right, so you've been scouring through survival blogs to find some recipes. The final omelette you end up making with bits and pieces of all four of your crows is a little ugly, so you plop it in a sandwich with some buffalo ranch. It's not the first combination you'd think of, but you know what Bro likes. A broken heart for a broken heart-- that should make things even. Plus there's probably some whatever the fuck kind of love magic that goes into feeding someone a heart. You've seen the movies before.

When he comes down you offer him his lunch, Mr. Grouchy Pants whines about your crows. Whatever, you can set them aside for now. It doesn’t shake the buzz and excitement boiling in your gut anyway. You put the roofie in his OJ to complete the meal. Watching it disappear and dissolve rocks you head to toe. So close--

"Dropped this."

Your heart falls through your swooping belly for a moment. Does he know? Have you been caught? No, no it's just the paper. He doesn't know. He can’t know.

You tuck the paper in your pocket in place of where the roofie was and you sit down next to him.

He eats. He likes it. He actually likes it! That has to be a good sign, right? You avoid mentioning what meat exactly you were trying out, instead just asking a simple question about ham. Assumptions can take care of the rest.

Come on, come on. Just a little bit longer. He yawns and his head dips, then bows side to side. Yes, that’s it. 

He passes out, and you can get to work. You pull on his chair and try to drag him over to the futon. He's still a bit loopy and out of it, enough to take a step or two on his own to plop down on the couch. It's a good thing he at least has the sense to help you out there, it's not like you're as strong as he is. 

With the new cables he got, you tie his wrists to the wooden baseboard on top of the cushions behind. Cables aren't really meant for tying so it's a bit hard but you've spent enough money on drugs that rope is simply off the table. They're not the best knots but they'll do for now, he isn't going to be breaking out of them in this state. 

"Dave…?" He whispers, his head lolls back and forth. He sounds vulnerable, the consonants clicking like fragile glass.

"Shh, I'm just tucking you in," you purr. You've got the scissors and you cut up along his shirt, exposing all those muscles. Look at him, goddamn adonis. He's gorgeous. Next you tug off his shorts and briefs, all of it. It's harder than you thought it would be but the fatass isn't helping you one bit, not even with a scooch or two.

It's worth it though, god is it worth it. Your belly catches fire and you even get a little woozy.

There he is. Naked. Arms spread. His flaccid cock out and it's impressive simply on its own. Thick and a decent size, his heavy balls hang against the cushioning of the couch.

Needless to say, you're practically drunk on lust. Your boner is making itself known loudly and proudly. Fuck, his cock is so appetizing and right there, you could just take it in your mouth, keep him warm until he wakes up. You're tempted to, but you need him awake for this. It’ll be more fun that way.You want him pliable, but not at the cost of his memory. A bit of ammonia should do the trick. He'll be just aware enough to be able to respond and know what you're saying. He’ll speak the truth and nothing but.

So you grab the bottle of ammonia and unscrew it, gingerly bring it just below his nose. He breathes. Sniff. Sniff sniff-

Bro jolts and the ammonia gets knocked from your hands. _Shit_. It spills on his chest, just a touch, but you manage to catch it just in time. Fuck that was close. You close it and set it to the side. Man does it stink, though. 

"What the fuck Dave??" He yells and you look up. 

Oh shit he's wide awake. His eyes blink a few more times a second than normal, but yeah, he’s awake.

"What the fuck… did you feed me? Am I naked? Dave what the hell is going on!?" He tugs and tugs on the cable and you stand there frozen.

Your heart is vacillating from your gut to your gullet. Fuck. Say something, say _something_. "Just calm down Bro, it's okay-"

"Calm down? Calm down?? You expect me to fucking calm down when you drug me and I'm _here_ and my clothes are just gone. What the hell man??" He blinks his eyes and his head still sways. You suspect he's still woozy from it all but that doesn't change how forcefully he's tugging on those cables.

Jesus Christ okay, okay. He’s tugging hard but he’s still drugged right? He should at least still be susceptible to your words. "Stop. Just stop Bro, deep breaths. Let's count down from ten, okay? It's fine-"

"This is anything BUT fine. C'mon man what the fuck." He tugs harder and harder-

One of the cables goes loose. He tugs on it more. 

Oh shit. 

Oh fuck. 

He's going to be free. He's not going to stay. He's not going to love you. He NEEDS to love you! He NEEDS to understand!

"Stay put, Bro, stop." You urge him more, but your voice is shaking. Is it fear? Adrenaline? Your boner is still there but-

It's loose, he almost has one hand untied now. 

You panic.

It's right there, you were just using it, you can't think of anything else to do so you just- you just-

You pick up the hammer and one of the nails. Time moves slowly and you've stopped breathing altogether. The nail goes against his palm and one, two HIT, HIT, _HIT_.

"OW HOLY FUCK!" He screams. You’d take the time to revel in the cloying desperation and pain in his voice, but he can’t be released. He can’t. Not yet. One more...

Before he can free his other hand, you do the same to it. HIT, HIT, _HIT_.

"Motherfuck!!- ooohh my god Dave- DAVE! What the fuck are you doing ow fuck holy shit!"

His hands are nailed against the futon, arms spread like he's going to give you a hug. "Shut up." You manage. He has to calm down, has to quiet. He can’t be too loud yet, you haven’t even confessed to him. 

"What the fuck what the fuck oh god oh god. Call fucking, 911 or whatever. Jesus Christ! Literally you've nailed me like him, what the fuck. This fucking hurts dude I can't--"

"Shut up." Please Bro you fucking idiot, just shut it. Just have the fucking decency to shut your mouth for just one second. It’s not like he never had that sort of problem before, not like he talks to you all that much.

"-shut up because it's fucking painful. What the fuck dude, Dave I'm going to kill you I swear to--"

"I said shut up!" Idiot. Idiot. _Idiot_!!

"Don't you fuckin--"

"Shut UP!!" You scream in his face. It's guttural, it flows through your body and sets you aflame with heat. "Shut up!!"

"Dave-"

You pick up the piano wire and straddle his lap, wrapping it around his neck.

"What, what are you-"

"Shut up!!" You pull it tight, "Shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!" Your scream in his face and pull, pull, _pull_ on the wire. "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP," the idiot keeps trying to talk, but doesn't he realize he can't? You won't let him. You pull tighter on the wire, and his neck starts to go red. "I'M SICK OF YOU WHINING ABOUT 'STABBED THIS' AND 'NAILED THAT'. SHUT UP ALREADY. IT'S REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING TO HEAR THAT SHIT." You get louder the tighter you pull. The color changes on his skin like the most gorgeous sunset you’ve ever seen.

Bro's sweating now, you can see it on his cheek. Or maybe that's a tear. His eyes are beginning to bulge after all. Inside you has come an otherworldly sense of peace. The eye of the storm. You keep a tight grip of the wire, allowing it to dig into his skin. Is there blood? Maybe. You hope this scars.

"Fucking listen to me for once in your life goddammit. For just _once_ be here for me. You _owe_ me." 

His face is turning blue and purple. His veins begin bulging out. His eyes are red and wet. He chokes, phlegmy and full of spit.

Well, now’s as good a time as any to get some sort of confession out of him.

"If you shut the fuck up and answer a question, I'll let you breathe. Deal?"

Bro nods his head, or tries to. His eyes are getting a little crossed.

"I said, is that a fucking deal??"

"D-eal," he barely manages to rasp out. Can't even say it properly. Normally he wouldn't let you go that easily, but you're nicer. 

You loosen the wire just enough so your aren’t cracking open his windpipe. “Do you love me?”

“Wha-” He chokes. C’mon, he’s your Bro. It really shouldn’t be that hard to answer. So you tighten the wire again.

“I SAID. DO. YOU. LOVE. ME.” C’mon Bro just say it, just admit it. It doesn’t have to be that hard. 

“Yes,” his cheeks get more wet as he nods. “Yes, I l-love you…” His words begin to drown by spittle and his tongue grows thick in his mouth. 

You suppose that’ll do for now, besides you have it on camera to keep and show to him if he ever denies it. So you decide to accept his confession and release the wire, unwrapping it around his neck.

He gasps and coughs and gasps some more. Each breath a rasp. "Take it easy you big baby, it wasn't even for that long." It’s not like his trachea can’t handle it. It was hard for you too, his neck is thick and you’re not exactly the strongest guy around. Really, it shouldn’t be so hard to get a little confession like that out of him. Let alone get him to listen to yours. Ugh.

He's drooling a bit as he coughs and wheezes a few more times and he shoots you a glare. You know what it means. You don't even need to hear Bro speak to know what he wants.

"Ugh fine I'll get you some water. But it's me-time, okay?" He will hear your confession, _dammit_. And then you can be together.

Bro coughs again and nods so you climb off his lap. Damn that really is a comfy lap all things considered. That’s something you could really get used to. 

You go to the kitchen and grab a glass of water and come back. Of course you get yourself situated on his lap again and his coughing has subsided enough that he lets you tilt his head back and give him a few sips of water. It takes a few minutes for his to swallow it all and stop gasping. At least he isn't moving his arms or trying to break out anymore so you must have knocked some sense into him.

"Good?"

"Peachy," he rasps. His voice is hardly there, just barely a whisper, almost like silk on your skin.

"Good. I've had a lot on my mind that I needed to talk about and show you. It's hard to do that when you're so stubborn but I know you Bro. I know you better than you know yourself." You place your hands on his chest, and glide them along to his shoulders. "You're handsome," you sigh, "but I'm sure even an idiot like you knew that."

Your hands spread and travel down each arm, bringing you closer and closer to him. You're practically breathing the same air. "I love you too, you know that?,” you husk low in the shared breaths between you and him. “No one will ever love you like I do." And you kiss the gross drool on his lips to prove it, soft and chaste. Your hands reach far enough that you're able to touch the nails and feel his warm blood spilling elegantly across his palm-- you pull back.

"This is a good look on you. I'd hang you right up there with my crows. Maybe someday but… I gotta keep these precious insides inside of you, all warm and safe." Your bloody hands now drag down his chest, down to his belly, leaving a red trail in their wake. You look up to see him still glaring at you. Sigh.

"Look, you're a pretty shitty guardian okay? Literally the fucking worst." He blinks and his eyes widen. "Don't look so surprised. But don't worry about it. I really can't blame you because it's not like you know any better. You're just doing your best, but it stresses you out too much. You're never home with me and…"

Ah shit, here come the waterworks. You're getting a little teary eyed yourself. It’s not the first time he’s made you cry, doesn’t he get it? 

"Whoring yourself out the strangers at the club. You don't need their phone numbers when you already have mine! I'm on speed dial!” A fist comes swinging down and you hit his chest with a loud thud of muscle. He strains against the nails that dig into his palms and hisses through his teeth.

The words come tumbling from your tongue, more and more earnest with each one. A waterfall that pours from you soul into his. 

“I can take care of you. I _will_ take care of you. I know you inside and out Bro. I know everything about you. I need you, I _love_ you. All you need to do is sit back and relax, okay?" You lean forward and press and press another kiss on his lips. A kiss on his cheek. On his chin. A kiss on his jaw. And a kiss on the dark red lines across his throat.

You then push yourself off and down onto your knees between his legs. He's fucking gorgeous like this. And his cock, ugh it smells so good. It smells just like him. Even the ammonia can't stop you from being able to enjoy it. "I'll prove it to you." You bat your eyes and kiss the inside of his thigh. "Let me show you how precious you are. I know you want this. I know you've seen me. You just admitted that you love me too." 

You remember something, and you laugh. 

"And by the way, that wasn't a prank the other night."

His eyes shoot open more and he opens his mouth the wheeze something at you, but the nails tug on his hands and you squeeze harshly the still scabbing scar on his calf. You hope it fucking hurts. 

"No talking, remember? We made a deal."

Bro hisses and breathes out a heavy breath or two. He stops looking at you to squeeze his eyes shut. Asshole.

"Hey, look at me."

He does.

"Just watch. All you have to do is relax. Just let me love you and everything will be okay."

His brows furrow, and he drops his jaw open to gasp and pant-- but he nods. Thank god. You wouldn’t want to choke him again so soon.

"I love you so so so much Bro," you confess between peppered kisses up his thigh, and you take his soft cock in your hand. "Trust me, everything will be okay."

You wrap your lips around his cock and look up to admire him as you take him deeper into your throat. Love and warmth spreads across your chest to your hands, your throat, your lips. Practice makes perfect, and you're able to go even to press your nose in his pubes and lick his balls. You're skilled at this. Bro's never had his dick sucked this good before.

It would be nice to hold his hand, or to feel it run through your hair, but nailed to the futon like Christ himself is so hot. You should take a picture. 

You bob on his cock, up and down, slowly bringing it to life-- and it _does_ come to life. "See? I can make you happy," you pull off and purr, kissing up his hard cock. "I can take all of you. We fit so perfectly. I hope you can see that now," and you swallow him right up again. His cock tastes wonderful and you take your time to memorize it. His skin is soft and smooth as velvet on steel, and you can't help yourself. You've got a hand down your pants jerking yourself in tandem with your throat engulfing him. The way his thick cock stretches your lips, make you drool all over him. You bet he likes that, the slut. 

"Dave…" you hear the gravelly remnants of his voice and you look up, "Close."

Nothing brings you more joy than that word in this moment. Nothing. The excitement and pure joy of it bubbles through your nerves, your stomach swooping and diving deeper and deeper in love. You're making him so happy, you're doing so well, you're going to make him come like he's made you so many times in your mind. You bring a hand up to massage his balls as you take him all the way in again and swallow around his shaft. His hefty balls rise and clutch against his body, and you look at him in the eyes as he comes down your throat.

Bro looks at you too. His eyes are wet and his mouth hangs open and his come tastes bitter and sweet at the same time and _hot_. 

You swallow every last drop he has to offer before you pull off with a slick POP. "Guess we're even now," you giggle while your hand continues to stroke yourself off just one last bit as you nurse on his balls like teats. 

Closer, closer, yes… 

“Unng Bro,” you moan into the crevice between pelvis and leg, burrowing your face into his warm body heat as you come all over your hand.

Cleanup is not exactly your favorite, but you're courteous enough to wipe yourself down along with him before you straddle his lap again with the first aid kit in your hand. "Can I trust you not to do anything if I take the nails out?"

Bro looks at you, his eyes half lidded and he's panting hard. His head is slightly bowed and he nods.

You lean forward and press a sweet kiss on his forehead. "Good." See how easy it is to just do what you say?

Taking the nails out is not as easy, but you make it work. He yelps and pathetically cries out husky and wheezing with each one, but otherwise he's subdued and pliable. You're no doctor but you've been watching a lot of surgery videos so you know a thing or two. Bro's hands might not function _exactly_ the same again, but more than likely it'll just be a bit harder to stick up his middle finger you suppose. He’ll be fine. 

You take a hand into your own and wipe it clean, apply ointment, and see the exit wounds before bandaging it up. You repeat the same thing with his other hand, slow and steady. His hands are much larger than yours. Warm and calloused. Long fingers meant for detailed work, meant for holding you.

"There, all done." You say with another sweet kiss to his neck. "That should heal on its own with some time." You get off his lap and cuddle up next to him, wrapping an arm around his belly and you pull his arm to wrap around your shoulders. "I love you Bro. I'll never leave you."

You give him a squeeze.

"... love you too, Dave." You barely hear it, not even a whisper. It’s more of an exhale. But you hear it.

Joy bursts through your chest and you quickly stand up, tugging a hand with you. He hisses, "Oops, sorry. Let's go to bed, okay?" 

Bro slowly blinks and nods along, letting you take the lead.

You lead him into his own room and he stumbles, but with an arm around his waist you help him get there. Inside, it's easy to push him onto the bed where you climb up next to him under the sheets. You’ve been waiting for this for so long; cuddling him in his bed, all cozy and warm. And he confessed to loving you, _twice_.

"Sweet dreams, big guy. Sleep well." You know you sure as hell will.


	5. Chapter 5

**BRO**

You have anything BUT sweet dreams. 

God… you were right. Not completely right but Dave is… Dave is...

Your entire fucking life has flipped all the way upside-down and quite frankly, you don't know whether to be pissed or collapse in depression. But here you are, in bed, with Dave tucked up under your arm and sleeping soundly.

Why the hell does he have to look cute when he's asleep. He was when he was small and he still is now. But why do you have to think that he's cute? Why do you like the way his pale hair rests on his face, his eyelashes that go on for miles? Why do you like his plush lips?

Why did you have to say… _that_? 

There was a good bit back there where you genuinely thought you were going to die. The edges of your world began to fade, your body went ablaze, and you couldn’t get a single breath. It was all pain and Dave. Color wandering away except for the red of his eyes. Whatever he gave you was enough to fucking chill decently to go along with everything. But that…

Your leg aches. Your hands ache. Your neck aches. Your chest aches. 

Why did you say you love him? Was it just to appease him? He did seem pretty damn happy about it when you said it. But after seeing all of this? After seeing what the hell he really is? He's so fucked up. He so fucked up and insane and you don't know what the fuck to do to fix this. You're good at engineering, you're good at fixing _things_ and after that display you're not exactly sure Dave's really a person anymore. And yet…

You raised him.

He's your little brother. He's your Dave. He overpowered you and targeted your weaknesses like you taught him. He sucked your dick with the grace and the will of the sluttiest smuppet you've ever made. 

_You_ raised him.

And you love him. You're old enough to know that love isn't just that passionate honeymoon feeling. It's not about liking everything and enjoying it all. Part of it is struggle and accepting faults, loving is love despite the bad things.

This is all your fault.

It's not always healthy. But you can't deny that you still love him. You're fucking terrified, but you love him. You want to feed him, house him, clothe him, keep him warm. You want to make sure he lives a good life, with or without you. 

You turned him into this.

Dave's a heavy sleeper, so it's not too hard to slide out from under him and put on a few clothes. Look at him, just lying there. Harmless. 

Can he forgive you?

But you know the truth. You brush some of his hair out of his face. This is the monster you've created. This monster that's obsessed with you. Well, if you take you out of the equation, then it'll be fine. You're not going to off yourself of anything, you just… won't be around. He won't hurt you if you're not there. You'll still work, give him money, but… you have to leave, it's better for both of you if you do.

Can you forgive yourself?

You take your coat, pack a few pairs of clothes, a katana, and with your wallet and keys you're out the door. 

The first place you go is to the 24 hour clinic, because Dave sure as hell didn’t know what he was doing with your hands. As it is, it's difficult to wrap your hands completely around the steering wheel. When you get there, you try to say (keyword being “try” with your janky voice) it was a freak house improvement accident. 'Course the doc takes you aside and asks you about your neck. Also a total freak accident. He checks it out and insists on intubation and whatever else medical terms he’s saying that you’re not paying attention to, just to be safe, but otherwise you're fine. Just a bit bruised and hoarse for a while. 

Doc then does a little digging on your hands and finds that while there are a few ligaments torn, it's not all bad. He sews up torn muscle tissue and sews up the skin again. You're given more pain pills and another round of ointment on the wounds and then you're free to go.

The next stop is a motel. A shitty motel that only deals in cash but it's a shitty motel with locks on the doors. You quickly get yourself a room and go right on inside, locking the door with all the locks it has. Sigh.

This might be your new home. Or something like this. You don't know what the hell to do now other than sleep. You'll think about it in the morning. Probably. Though once you collapse on the bed, it doesn't take long for sleep to pull you into darkness.

The floor is the floor, the ceiling is the ceiling. The crows are on the wall, and so are you, watching yourself. Dave wraps his arms around your waist and you lean against him. Warm. Comforting. Red. Everything is perfect. You love him. He loves you. The sky is blue. The day is hot. And you're covered in blood. Everything is perfect.

Waking up isn't easy. It's slow and gradual and you're not sure where you are at first, but then you relax. You've had a full night's sleep on your own. Dave is safe at home. You are safe here. You sigh and check your phone. 14 texts from Dave. All of them are "where are you" in increasing amounts of desperation. He might try the club, he might try the store. He'll go to the garage and find your truck’s not there. But it'll be okay. He can take care of himself.

You get up and shower and change, call in sick from work. You're not really sure where you want to go, just anywhere but here. Maybe the bank, set up an account for Dave. Mail him a debit card or something. Maybe you'll go looking for full time jobs just to keep yourself busy and away and send money to him. Maybe you should see a fucking psychiatrist. 

But instead you cry. You drop and wrap your arms around your knees, and you cry. You haven't sobbed this hard since you were a kid. And it's difficult to because breathing isn't the easiest thing in the world right now. You heave and wheeze and sniffle and choke. Hot tears stream down your face and onto your lips. Snot drops from your nose and you lazily wipe it on your sleeve. 

This is your fault. You did this to him. You're the big older brother, the guardian, you were supposed to _prevent_ shit like this from happening. But instead you fostered it and brought it to your door. You're stuck here. You've ruined not only your life, but Dave's as well-- and his obsession with you. God…

Showing his ass off to the cameras, sucking your cock like there's no tomorrow, he's got a fetish for you. He ain't lying when he says he needs you. But he'll have to go without you, at least for a little while. Shit… you said to call 911 but even a visit to the clinic showed that you'd never tell the truth for shit. You'll always protect him. You won't let them take him away for your mistakes. 

You still can't believe you came in his mouth. You can't fucking believe how hot it was.

No, no fuck that. It wasn't hot. Your little brother can't be hot that's not how this goes. He's allowed because he's young, you raised him, it's your fault. But you're the adult here and you're not fucking _allowed_ to be attracted to him or like that shit. Even as a human being you're not allowed.

So why are you hard? Why can’t you get those images of him out of your head? His ass… those lips... 

Fuck this. Fuck sobbing. You need to get out of here and get some actual air. Maybe eat something. Do actual human things; go to the mall, be around people, walk in the park. Today's the first day of the rest of your life, right?

So you will your dick to calm down and you wash your face, freshening up. You pop your collar all the way and even button it to hide the mark. Dave's mark. With your gloved hands which have holes to show where he marked you there too. And you leave the motel room.

The truck hums beneath your seat and the wheel feels surprisingly nice against your aching wounds. You go to the mall first. Walk around in the big open space, blending in with crowds of people. They all seem so normal. 

Then again, so did Dave. 

Could any of these people be like him? You shudder. Nope. No way. You wouldn't wanna be around anyone like him. You can't even want to be around _him_ right now. Not that you don’t want to. _Do_ you want to? 

Your pocket vibrates, and you ignore it.

The food court isn't half bad. The selection isn't so varied but between Chinese and Mexican food, the decision still isn't easy. You go for a burrito with plenty of juicy meat. Unf, been a while since you've had one. They're so delicious-- oh baby how could you ever forget about burritos?

Dave probably wouldn't want you calling even a burrito "baby". 

You snort out a laugh. Why? Why would you laugh? You're joking about Dave's sick jealousy and you laugh. 

You're suddenly not hungry anymore

You toss out the rest of your food. Where to next?

Your phone vibrates again. Dave's _calling_ you. He never calls. Calling just isn't a thing he does.

…

Should you answer?

…

No. No you don't answer. You don't block his number but you don't answer. Instead you shoot the shit and explore the mall more. And when the mall has nothing else of interest, you leave and go to a dog park. Fuck yeah, things are always better with dogs to pet. 

You go driving around a bit more. And you drive. And drive. And drive.

Just outside of Houston are a few good hiking spots. It's not so bad with the trees and the birds and little squirrels. The sun sets over the horizon and it's a beautiful bloody red that crosses the sky. 

You order food delivery to the apartment for him. An olive branch you owe, just to say you're not there but you'll still be looking out for him. 

On the drive back to the motel you wonder about quitting your job at the club. He could hang around and wait for you. But maybe if you sneak in he'll never reach you anyway. After all, you have to be 21 to get in, and the bouncers are good at their jobs.

The next day is much of the same and when you brave going to work, it turns out you were right. Dave isn't here, he doesn't show up. You look through the crowds for a head of blonde hair a bit shorter than the rest, and it never comes. There's no drinking, no hot making out in the closet. Something about that makes you feel sick now. No, you just can't. 

At the end of the night you're almost scared to leave, surely Dave will be waiting for you there?

But he isn't. The back alley is empty save a scurrying rat.

The next day is the same. Your phone continues to vibrate every once and awhile but you always ignore it, instead getting used to your new life. You continue to order dinner for Dave every night; Chinese, pizza, Mexican, burgers, etc. It helps ease the guilt infecting your bones. 

More days pass by like this, and you develop a routine of sorts. It's a bit boring but it'll do. 

Your mind still replays that day. The passion in his shouting, his throat around your dick, the wire around your neck. You can't get the images of him finger banging himself on camera out of your mind. 

It just happens. You didn’t mean for it to happen but it does. One night you jack off thinking about it. You feel shameful and empty from it, like you've done something wrong or forgotten something. 

But it still felt good.

More boring days pass after that, until your next day off from work, and you find yourself in a bar being served by a guy that smells way too much like weed and a smile that's too big. 

But he serves you a mean Bloody Mary so you don't get too huffy about it. You scroll on your phone through news and memes and so on, checking the internet for any kind of entertainment.

Dave calls again. He hasn't texted or called all day, but he is now. You sigh and set your phone down to let it ring. Outright dismissing the call feels wrong but ignoring it is excusable, right? Just pretend you didn’t see it rather than openly dropping it. 

"Gonna answer that?" The bartender asks with a raised brow.

"Nah," you manage, your voice is still a bit hoarse. "Just my little bro."

"Dunno man, at a time like this? It's pretty late for a kid to be calling."

You sigh, "Look man, I don't need you to tell me how to be a bro for my kid. He's fine on his own."

"Whatever you say. But you know they aren't always. Kids do some stupid stuff when they're alone."

"Fine." Your eyes roll but you pick up your phone and answer on the last ring. 

You were bound to cave eventually.

"Bro! Oh thank god, oh thank god you're real and you're here."

It sounds like he's crying, damn. His voice is chopped with hiccups. "What's going on?"

"Please come meet me, I… I fucked up. I fucked up so bad I'm so sorry I didn't mean to it just- it just happened." He chokes out a few sobs and his breathing quickens, "Oh fuck oh fuck oh god I'm going to jail."

"Woah woah slow down, what is it?"

He hiccups and chokes before he manages to say it. "I hurt someone, real bad, I-- I didn't mean to." 

He’s fine on his own? You've never been more wrong in your life.


	6. Chapter 6

**DAVE**

You press the little red hang up button and sniffle. It's a lot easier to cry when you've chugged some tabasco sauce. The address you gave to Bro will lead him here, to a warehouse in the business district that’s long been abandoned. He forgot to ask why you were even here, but you guess that's good. He's concerned about you, too concerned to think straight. It's okay, you understand those kinds of things. It's why he ran away.

A bold declaration of love like that was stupid, of course you would overwhelm him. You don't just jump from first base to the honeymoon. Such a dumbass. But as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. It certainly has for you, you hope it has for him.

As for this guy, unfortunate purse-snatcher-mcgee here happened to cross your path while you were on the prowl. Bro would probably feel better if it was a so-called "bad guy" anyway. He's on his back, eyes lifeless, and his chest bleeding from 24 stab wounds. 

What? You had to be sure.

But the more you think about it and wait for Bro to come to your "rescue", the more your thoughts wander to your crows. 

There's more now. You had to cope with Bro running off somehow. Honestly he can be so selfish sometimes. Didn't he know how much this would hurt you? 5 dissected crows later and then you're just antsy and anxious to do _something_ about it. Food delivery just isn’t enough, though it’s nice to know that he’s still thinking about you. Of course he is. He loves you.

But you need a plan. 

That's when you remember Bro’s recent errands. 

You know a bit about how to hide a body, and the best ways to do it or typically by splitting up the different parts. Limbs, organs, you name it. Tie them in a bag and sink them to the bottom of the river. Clean the blood with ammonia, salt paste, and it’s like it never even happened.

Welp, better get to work then!

It's dark but there's enough light to just be able to see what you're doing. Cutting away the guys shirt goes first, and it's pretty easy. Next, you take off his boots and slide them under the body’s back to help him arch his chest out better. It'll be much easier to slice and dice like this. 

His chest is exposed, skin marred with stab wounds and blood, yet it feels so pure. Like a virginal cavity, waiting for the penetration it was always meant to take. It makes your heart stutter the same way Bro’s golden eyes do. The world around you is gone. There’s only the body, you, and Bro coming to your rescue.

With your trusty stabbing knife, you make the first incision below his collar bones, cutting deep in a straight line. Since he only _just_ died, blood spills down his chest and pours onto the ground, coagulating with the blood from his previous wounds. Even your knees are getting soaked and it's _wonderful_. It can't be better than this. 

Well, if Bro was here it would be. 

Once his chest is cut, you take hold of the skin flaps and open him up and he blooms like a flower. His heart is presented to you, his lungs on either side. Ribs surround them and travel down along the esophagus, to his stomach. His intestines are almost bursting and shit… shit fuck. 

Before you can think twice, you dive in to grab the smooth viscera of this dead man, pulling out his guts and letting them slide along your fingers. God you're hard. Your boner aches but you're too distracted by how _intoxicating_ it feels just to hold organs in your hands. Real actual organs. The crow organs are NOTHING compared to this.

Is this what Nirvana feels like? Is it supposed to feel so good and peaceful and… _wow_. 

You greedily pull out more and more. You pull out the liver, kidneys, spleen. You're drenched in blood but it all just makes it that much more _hot_. You crack off a rib with a satisfying SNAP, and you save it in your pocket as a memento. Then you crack more-- snap, snap, SNAP! You take each lung in your hands and _squeeeeze_. It squishes between your fingers and you shiver down to your dick. 

And finally, the heart. You cut the arteries and ventricles to pull it out and hold it in your hands. That had a life in it. It pumped blood into this guy's brain for years, to his body, to his dick. This is what allowed him to think, what allowed him to fuck. You want to squeeze this too, make it burst, but the sound of Bros engine nears and the headlights shine against you back.

He's here. He's home.

You release a sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?" He asks as he closes the door and walks closer. His voice is still a bit of a wreck but he sounds better.

You place the heart down and stand up, spinning around and-- "Bro!" There he is, it's actually him! You run to him like a classic romantic reunion scene across a field-- slow motion, you hair swaying in the passing wind, animated hearts all around you-- and hug him tightly. Pressing your body as close as you can to his while clutching onto the back of his shirt. "Bro I missed you, I'm so scared oh god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You sniffle again.

"Hey, hey," he sounds soft, but he hasn't hugged you back yet. "Let's just take care of this, then we'll talk later."

"You promise?"

"I promise man. Now stop getting my shirt all messy."

You step back and see that sure enough, you've covered his shirt in blood. He looks good. "Okay. I tried to make him into smaller pieces to make it easier…"

He nods and walks back towards the truck. "Alright. Let's grab some bags and clean it up I guess." 

You take some from him and your hands touch. God, you’re such a sap. It’s so romantic. You lead him over to the body where you bend down and start placing the organs inside.

"Holy fuck…"

Bro just stands there, staring at the body. He should be staring at your ass thank you very much, but it's fine. It's his first body anyway. "We can deal later, okay?" You remind him.

"Mhm, right." He sounds a little unsure. Hesitant. Scared.

Well, guess it's time to test by fire. There’s no way you’re going to let him run again.

You take the heart in your hands and hold it out to Bro.

He stares at it.

You stare at him.

"Put it in the bag." He says.

"You do it," you step closer more insistently. 

He doesn't back away. In fact he looks at it more intently and swallows.

"It's okay Bro. Take it," you reach out to hold his hand (they’re scarring up nicely) and you gently place the heart on his palm. "See?"

He's quiet. Almost too quiet and still. He's doing that thing where you almost feel like he's a robot. Just staring. Just standing there.

But then his other hand rises, and he cups the heart in his hands, continuing to stare at it.

"... Cool, huh? Kinda slick."

He nods.

You quietly place your hands against his, holding the heart with him. Sticky wet blood coats your hands, warm and wet. He holds the heart so carefully like it’s fragile. As if it’s his heart, as if it’s yours. You hold his hands with similar care.

Something has changed. You’re not sure what, but something has. And you like it.

He looks at you. Gold meets ruby. 

"Let's keep going, okay?" You tell him.

He blinks and nods again, pulling away to drop the heart into the bag. 

The two of you continue to pick up the little bits and pieces you've pulled out of the man, and you make small comments about what they're called and interesting facts about them. Like how intestines pulse in waves to help food travel along, or how this guy still had his appendix. 

Once he's all in bags, including the whole main body cavity, you both grab some large rocks to stuff in there before tying it up. Next comes the cornstarch and salt paste to clean up the blood, along with ammonia and brushes. It takes a lot of elbow grease, and it's more or less quiet between the two of you.

But it's not uncomfortable. In fact it's rather amicable. You catch him looking at you and you blush. You look at him and you want to say he blushes but you're unsure if he's ready for that yet. 

Once that's done, you put the body parts in the truck bed, and ditch your shirts in a small fire you set with a bit of gasoline. The ashes get swept away, and you hop aboard the truck.

The river isn't too far from here, so it doesn't take long to get there and find a secluded enough place to dump the parts. 

All in all, it's a bit of a haze really, you're just so glad to see Bro again. He came to help you, and he didn't even puke when he saw the body, didn't wretch or curse you. Instead he just helped.

It's hard to stop yourself from admiring him from the passenger seat on the way home. There are deeper bags under his eyes and his stubble is a bit scruffier than normal. His hair is a bit dirty and greasy, and his neck maintains a bit of bruising and scarring. You don't say anything though, too afraid to ruin the silence, to make him run again. 

Driving into the parking garage back home almost feels nostalgic now. You've missed it. It's small and simple but you've missed even just this. You both get out and climb up the stairs, all of them. Shirtless and dirty and sweaty. Together.

Bro unlocks the door and you head inside right behind him. The door closes, locks, and he turns to face you.

5 seconds. 30 seconds. 1 minute. 2 minutes. 5 minutes.

Ruby red eyes meet golden amber, they travel along the indents of skin and muscles and hair and bones, and back up to meet again.

You find yourself expecting him to make the first move, but you shake yourself out of the reverie and take his hand and lead him to the couch. With a light push he sits, and you sit beside him with his hand in yours. 

"I forgive you." You say, just to get it out of the way. You know he’s been worried about that. "I know I scared you, it's a lot to take in, and I forgive you for running away. It's okay, you’re home now."

His brows crinkle and he stares at your hands. "You hurt me."

You scoff, "You've hurt me a whole bunch, too."

"Not like that."

"I dunno, I think some of it might be worse."

"Oh knock it off. What you did fucking hurt." 

"And you-"

He cuts you off, "Let me speak. It hurt. Not just the choking and the nails. Everything."

"But you love me, don't you?"

Bro pauses to look at you, and sighs. "That's why I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you stranded, but let's just- go back to normal. Forget this ever happened." 

Oh that's rich. He’s so naively hopeful it makes you belt out a laugh.

"I'm serious, please Dave. I need this."

"You don't know what you need."

"And you do?"

"Obviously."

He huffs and tries to take his hand away, but you don’t let him. "Alright then so what is it? What do I need?"

"Me."

He rolls his eyes, "Oh yeah, you sure got me there tough guy." You squeeze his hand _hard_ and he yelps.

"Look, I know I'm not perfect, and you aren't either. But we're perfect _together_. Haven't you always felt that? We belong together. We just don’t work on our own. Look at you, you’re a fucking mess!"

Bro huffs and his brows furrow deeper. "Alright, but then what? Everyday can't be like _that_. I can't let that be normal."

You laugh softly. He really is a big dummy, isn't he? "No, it's not gonna be. Not unless you want it to. I just want you with me."

"And what would an average day 'with you're be like?"

Oh the answers you could give him. You've thought about it all so much, of what you could do, how you could live together forever. "Just like normal, except we could fuck a whole lot and sleep together and you won't have to go around dating anymore."

"We can't do that," his voice is monotonous and robotic. "We just can't." You have him, you fucking have him.

"We can and we will."

Bro swallows and you gaze at his bobbing Adam’s apple. "We won't." He’s yours, just a little bit more.

"You gonna hurt me if I make us?"

His features soften and he meets your eyes. "No. I can't." That’s right Bro, just give into it.

"And you love me, right?"

His jaw clenches, but he nods. 

"Let's give it a shot then, okay? Just to try it out."

He stares at you. Your heart stands at the edge of a windy cliffside, swaying back and forth from plummeting into rocks and shattering, to warm pillows and fire to rest by.

"Please?"

He continues to stare, and you stare back. But eventually Bro relents and looks off at the TV. "Aight fine. Just… go easy on me."

You win.

Your cheeks hurt because your smile widens farther than you ever thought it could. "Thank you Bro, thank you thank you thank you." You collapse against his chest and hold him tight. And the romantic bastard wraps his arms around you and holds you back.

"Yeah… yeah." He rests his chin atop your head (yes!!) and sniffs. "Oof, yo dude we reek."

You pull back, "Wanna shower with me?"

"Together?"

"I promise no funny business, just washing." And you really mean it.

“Uhuh, you sure?”

“I’m positive, just trust me.”

He sighs, "Alright. Lead the way Romeo." 

You take his hand and do just that, bringing him into the bathroom and closing the door behind you both. You turn the shower on and let it warm up while you and Bro both undress. He hesitates at first, so you reassure him again that you're not going to cop a feel of his dick.

The shower is then ready and you step inside the tub along with Bro. "Sit," you tell him.

"What?"

"Sit."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Is that how we're gonna do this?"

You hate to admit it, but you stomp your foot and groan in frustration. "Just sit, okay? It's nothing nefarious or what have you. Just _trust_ me. Relationships are built on trust."

He blinks slow and stifles a yawn, "Aight fine. Too tired for this shit." He says before sitting down and crossing his legs under the running water.

"Thank you," now that wasn't so hard, was it? You sit yourself down on the lip of the tub and take the shampoo and dab it into his hair. Then you start to scrub and massage. Your fingers dig through each strand and part, gently soaping it up and digging into his scalp. 

His shoulders visibly relax and you smirk to yourself. "That nice?"

"Mhm," he hums, his neck loose and pliable to let you properly get all of his hair and behind his ears. Next comes the soap that you pour down his body, and you kneel down beside him to massage his muscles.

See how easy it is to just let you do all the work? All he has to do is relax, let you love on him, and everything will be okay. But of course, the assurance of a trial run isn't quite enough. No, he's not the best guardian and you've been playing that card this whole time. But he needs just one extra push. 

You still have the ecstasy on hand, and you've got one last gauntlet for him to face before he's ready to be with you.

"Mmm a little to the left." His murmur drags you back to your beautiful reality and you follow his command, massaging a bit of his shoulder where he directs. Your efforts are rewarded with a nice guttural moan that echoes against the tile.

When you finish washing him, you hand him the shampoo and soap and plop yourself down where he was sitting. "Can you wash me now, please?" You ask sweetly.

"Yeah, aight," he says and sits on the edge of the tub, copying what you did with him onto you. His hands are so big that both of them together cover your head, and he goes on to scrub and wash and rinse you through. 

It's nice. More than nice. You've never felt so loved in your life. All of his attention is on you and making you feel good. This is his true potential, and you hope he realizes it.

When you are sufficiently rinsed, you turn the shower off and you and Bro both towel off. As much as you would like to sleep with him in the nude, you figure he'll be much more open to the idea of cuddling up with you if you're both clothed first. So you leave and go to your respective rooms to change (and soon your room situation will change as well), before you go to Bro’s room and knock on the door frame. He didn't close it.

"Can we sleep together?"

Bro opens the door wider and nods towards his bed. "Sure." He sounds tired.

You waste no time rushing in and climbing into the bed. Yeah, you figured out the sneaky bastard is using a fancy mattress pad, and it's goddamn delightful. It was the bed you slept in while he was gone. But just the pad doesn’t compare to the delight that flows through your chest when he cozies up right next to you and pulls you close.

He kisses the top of your head. "G’night lil man."

You flush deep and hold him tight. "G’night Bro."


	7. Chapter 7

**BRO**

Was it a mistake? Was this all a descent further into the madness that Dave's dragged you into? Or has this been inside you the whole time, eating away at you until you gave in-- 

You expected Dave to have just tripped someone who fell and hit their head too hard, or… a stabbing sure. But not the brutal scene you saw before you. The man was completely disemboweled, and Dave was drenched in his blood. 

Yet somehow, the boner he had when he hugged you didn't surprise you at all. Yeah, you felt that. And he held onto you so tight, like he used to when you would pick him up from school. You missed that.

And the body… oh god the body. The guy’s heart was just _right there_. Normally when people see a whole ass dead disemboweled body for the first time, they flip their shit. There’s screaming and crying and puking. 

But you? You just stood there.

You really are fucked up.

Dave knew, and he picked up the heart and placed it in your hands and held it with you. It was soft, still a little warm. And his hands felt… nice cupped against yours. Like he understood. Understood what, exactly, you're not sure. You're not even sure if you understand yourself.

Cleaning up was really fucking freaky. The freakiest part was how _normal_ it all felt. If Dave wasn't there you'd probably flip your shit. But he was. He was there with you every step of the way and somehow you felt safe. Like you were able to make everything okay with him there. 

You don't know how he managed to convince you so easily to try out being together. But dammit to hell, when you saw him, you missed him. He's Dave for Christ's sake. 

How in the world would you ever be able to get over 13 years so quickly? You can’t, and part of you is grateful for it.

After a good night's rest together, things… actually go back to normal. Or at least a normal of some sort. Like before. Before the crows and everything, yet it’s like it had never gone away. You both spend the day with each other, playing video games, strifing, watching movies. You regularly share your bed and cozy mattress pad. He promises he won't stab you unless you ask for it, and he lets you make and order the food. Normal relationships don't need those reassurances…

But then again, when have you ever been considered normal?

Dave tries to make some sexy moves with you, and while a pang in your gut wants to be interested, you're still wrapping your head around the whole situation. He tells you he understands and resorts to kissing and cuddling.

He's a natural at kissing. And he's a pleasant weight on your lap. He likes being there, sitting on you, laying with you, just being right by you. You're certainly not used to it just yet, but it's not _not_ enjoyable. 

You think you might actually be able to get used to it. But that too has you worried.

You know yourself pretty well, you'd say, you know that once you get used to the same thing everyday it just starts to bore you. What if you get bored with this? What would Dave do to you? Would he kill you too? Or would he do worse?

It's hard to say, so you really try not to think about it. You find yourself instead enjoying his lips on yours, the little touches on your back when he passes by you, the way he's interested in learning what you're doing. He listens to you, he hears you, he _gets_ you.

There's still a few things that he gets a bit petulant about like errands or work. He makes you take him along to get groceries and music and supplies, but work is your time. Besides, he's too young to go in anyway.

So you go to work like everything's good and normal. You play your beats and let them thrum through you as you dance. You get a chance to play some of the newer records you've gotten and the crowd goes wild. They love you. Everyone loves you. 

Sometimes folks get a little touchy, want to get a feel of that famous Bro Strider ass of yours. Or to makeout with you in the closets. To wake up beside you after a one-night stand. 

But you turn them all away. Out of fear, sure, but there’s also a pang of guilt that lingers under your skin for even considering hooking up with them.

Tonight though, you feel good. Good enough to even have a drink. You ask the waiter for one and he playfully asks for your ID. Turns out you must have left it at home but he knows you and gets you one anyway. You still have cash so it’s not like it matters.

Drink in hand, you play some of those funky fresh beats and have a grand time. The base is boosted, the melody dances and coils through the air, latching onto the rhythm of bouncing and serenade. You bop your head along and scratch the records between sips of alcohol. Heat and heat surround you, cozy you up in a blanket music and people.

Then you heart drops through to the floor. 

Dave's here. He stands across the dance floor grinning at you. 

So that’s where your ID is. 

You put your hands on your hips and arch a brow over your shades at him from across the club. In response, he starts dancing through the middle of the crowd of people; grinding, shaking his ass, feeling up folks and getting felt up.

A souring pit of jealousy burns in your belly. You don't know why.

No, you do. But you don’t want to acknowledge it.

You nod at him to get all the way over here already and he does, continuing to dance along the way. 

"What are you doing here?" You shout over the pulse of music.

"I have a g-f- for you!" He grins.

"What?"

"I have a gift for you!!" His lips brush your ear as he bounces and dances and rubs up against you. "C'mon, put on a playlist and let's get out of here!"

Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the way he moves even better than anyone else here that makes you want to go. "Alright, lead the way." 

You check back on the computer (and decidedly not with your boss) to queue up the right playlist to go on for the rest of the night. Once you have it set up, Dave takes your hand and leads you through the back alley.

"Don't forget your drink!" He passes it to you while you both jog to the truck, and you finish off the rest of it before tossing the empty glass into a dumpster nearby.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see!" He laughs and somehow it feels infectious. You even catch yourself curling the edges of your lips in a smile.

You get in the car and Dave pulls up his GPS to guide you along. He leads you through the city, past the downtown area, past the business district, down through to the woods nearby the river where you pull into a familiar, dark, secluded park. "What are we doing here?"

"Come on!" He hops out with a shimmering grin that you can't help but mirror.

You get out too and follow him, and it's hot as hell out here. You're already sweating. But Dave seems too excited to ignore as he drags you along the trails, deeper into darkness. The sounds of rushing water soon fill the air and you see a light shining against a few trees.

Dave gives your hand a squeeze and you squeeze back. Something about the excitement of everything and this supposed "gift" of his gets you excited in more ways than one. "I can't wait for you to see it, you're going to be so stoked."

"Yeah?" You laugh breathlessly. The hype of it urges you to run faster and faster alongside of him. The pain in your calf all but gone in the recesses of your mind.

"Mhm!" He goes faster too, feeding off your excitement that he’s infected you with in a continuous feedback loop.

The light gets closer and closer as trees pass by you and the darkness of the river can be seen between the branches. Soon you reach a clearing where the supposed light was coming from. And you see it. You see your "gift."

"Surprise!" Dave says with his arms wide open. “Ain't he pretty?"

Your skin goes cold despite the humidity. The edges of your vision go hazy and you start to feel light-headed. Almost familiarly woozy.

Not from fear.

It's the twink you hooked up with in the back closet of the club. His eyes are wide and his voice is muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. He's "standing" with his arms spread, each hand nailed to a different tree. All he's wearing are red booty shorts.

"Woof it took him a while to get over here, let me tell you this guy doesn't know a 'please' from a 'thank you'."

You should be appalled. You should be horrified and disgusted. You should be shuddering with fear. You should be cursing Dave and throwing him into the river.

So why-- why are you _achingly_ hard?

"Speechless, huh? Yeah, that checks out. I hope you like it." He slides up next to you and his arms wrap around your waist. 

His arms around you have never felt so good before.

" _I strung him up all nice just for you._ " 

Your heart flutters. 

He shifts around to your back, pressing his boner against your ass as he whispers in your ear, "You even get the first cut."

You gasp, not even realizing that you had been holding your breath.

"Why…" you whisper. "Why are you doing this?" Yet you do nothing to stop him from letting his hands graze deliciously down your arms. Every touch feels _good_ , it feels _safe_.

"Because," he says, wrapping your hand around his knife. "I love you Bro. I know you. You want this."

"How could you know?"

His other hand glides down your chest and your belly, down to your jeans where he grabs your cock. You hiss. "This, for one thing." He snickers. "And you aren't denying it at all now."

It's true, god it's true. You're breathing hard and heavy, your skin is hot, everywhere Dave touches you need _more, More, MORE_. "I don't understand," you groan, hand tightening around the knife.

"I told you Bro. I know you. I know you don't like the normal life, and I know you get bored, you get scared. You won't have that with me. It'll be okay. No more Routine. Boring. Droll. Routine."

"How could you-" the air is taken from your lungs stolen by Dave.

"Because I know you."

He does. He loves you and knows you inside and out.

Fuck. 

Fuck how could you have been so fucking stupid. He's known you wanted this all along through years and years of raising him. Dave loves you and cares about you and everything in between. He palms at your cock and coos in your ear, "Kill him for me," he says, "kill him and we'll be free."

His voice is almost orgasmic; it runs down your spine and into your hand where you clutch the knife.

Throughout all of this you’ve known that you'd do anything for Dave. But now you know you truly will.

The pretty twinks eyes bulge and he shakes his head as you stalk closer and closer to him and in one swift strike-

The knife plummets into his heart. Dave holds you close from behind and moans in your ear, "Oh fuck, Bro, you're so hot right now."

"Only right now?" You pant out almost playfully.

The life in the guys eyes begin to drain, his features softening as blood spills down his once pristine skin, down to the ground and rightfully christening it. You pull the knife out and you begin to sway, dizzy and intoxicated from _something_ but you can't really complain whatever it may be. Lust, passion, love...

Dave wraps his hand around yours again, holding the knife with you as you both open a slit down his chest, all the way to his navel, together. 

Then he slices to the side on the right, and to the side on the left. Before he finishes guiding you through it, organs spill at your feet, sloshing onto the ground. After only just being killed, the viscera continues to writhe like worms. 

"Oh fuck, oh god," you breathe out. 

You just _killed_ somebody. 

Yet the only pressing thing on your mind is Dave's hand on your cock.

"Jesus this E. I need you fuck me Bro, please please fuck me," he whines in your ear.

Something about that strikes you as odd, "E?"

"We're both on E right now, but we're not doing anything we wouldn't normally do." He says as if it's reassuring.

And somehow it is. "Are you fucking sure?"

"Trust me Bro, and fuck me. It'll be okay, I promise."

He promises… Everything will be okay if you just let Dave love you, if you just trust him. 

Never in your life would you believe that you'd find pleasure at disemboweling an actual person. Never would you even dream of just doing that, period. 

But Dave's chest presses against your back, his hand holds yours, and he feels good, he feels _right_. Doing this with him feels safe. You can't imagine it any other way. You just can't find the will to care about anything else.

"Fuck me Bro, _please_."

And you let go. 

The knife drops to the ground and Dave spins you around and pushes you against the body, kissing you harsh and frantic. Shirts are tugged up into the air, hands fly everywhere, blood splatters and spreads across your skin. You can feel the ribs and slime of blood and membrane slide against your bare skin.

It’s _wonderful_.

The pants are quickly done away with and you find yourself sitting in the bloody pile of leaves beneath the body. He stares down at you and instinct says to take his lifeless eyes, to gouge them out. Dave’s are the only ones that matter.

Dave hops onto your lap without skipping a beat, continuing the kiss and thrusts his tongue down your throat.

Not that it's the best lube, but it's there and it'll do, so you soak up a finger in blood and begin teasing his hole. 

"In it. In me now." He demands.

You'll do anything for Dave.

You thrust your finger inside and he cries out in your ear, "Oh god yes, Bro, yes!" 

One thrust, two, in and out, in and out, you waste no time fingering him and stretching him open. 

"Two fingers!" You comply, shoving in a second finger. His aren't nearly as thick as yours, and you briefly wonder between frenetic kisses if he's ever been stretched so far before. 

"Three!" And you add a third.

Both Dave and you are covered in blood, and the sound of fingering matches that with the sound of viscera and organs squelching beneath you. It's sickening. It's delicious. 

"Out, out. I need your dick." He says and you pull your fingers out. 

Dave coats his hand in blood and strokes your dick to cover it, slick up nice and red just like his eyes. Your head to your spine tingles, your cock feels like it could blast off and send you to the goddamn moon. But Dave puts a cap on it before it can, the cap being his ass.

"Oh shit," you groan, his tight little ass sliding down your dick with blood and membranes dripping everywhere. He's small, tight, hot. You've never felt an ass this soft before. It's like he's made of silk and velvet finery.

Before you can even get settled in, Dave starts bouncing on your lap like a Looney Tune. He throws his head back and moans loudly, his voice chopping with each bounce. He moves his body like a human fleshlight, surrounding you, all encompassing you. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and hold him close. God, why were you afraid of fucking him before? 

He's perfect.

He's beautiful. 

He takes you so well. 

"Thank you, Bro, thank you," his keening fills your chest with joy, and the blood between you two smacks almost disgustingly in the air. "I love you so much!"

He’s yours.

"I love you too," you moan into his neck, raspy and gravely. Just like that first time. You still can't believe he choked you and made you come. 

You’re his. 

You can acknowledge that now.

Dave continues to hammer himself on your cock, spearing himself over and over. It distends his belly, filling him up more than he’s meant for-- yet he’s meant for _you_.. "You're gonna make me come Bro I'm gonna come. Come with me."

"Choke me." You say it before you even realize it.

"What?"

You look him in the eyes and feel the most sober you've been all night as you repeat yourself. "Choke me, please. Use me. I'm… yours."

Before you know it you're on your back, his hands pressing against the bruising of before. You stare at each other as Dave presses against your neck, pounding himself on your cock without stopping. Your blood is limited, your eyes go starry and you feel light-headed.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I-" Dave's mantra cuts off with his jaw dropped in a silent scream, tensing and scrunching up as he twitches and tremble, his cock spurting across your belly, and his ass squeezes around you. 

He lets go of your neck before the world goes black, and instead the world bursts with color as you gasp. Your hips rock into him and you come deep inside, filling him with your hot seed. He presses kisses all along your throat while you continue to shudder from the aftershocks.

After a minute of lying there, you realize your back is covered in blood, and it’s matted into your hair. You couldn’t give less of a shit, because Dave is just as bloody and beautiful and even more rotten than you are. And you're his exception. You belong to him. How can you not when he smiles down at you like that.

"I love you," you tell him. You well and truly mean it. You always have.

"I know."

Everything is perfect.


End file.
